


Dying in LA

by Feckless_KnickKnacks, lazy_stars (scrungass)



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: AIDs Crisis (no main characters effected), Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Dealing, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Voyeurism, Young Stans - 80's, bisexual Stanley Pines, first chapter is deceivingly sweet, rp-based so it's kind of from a dual perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feckless_KnickKnacks/pseuds/Feckless_KnickKnacks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrungass/pseuds/lazy_stars
Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines are aspiring twin actors who are past their prime, living out of a dingy apartment in Pacoima, LA. While Stanley continues to dream of hitting a big role with his twin at his side, Stanford believes they would be more successful if they were separated. After a life-changing audition, the twins find themselves thrust into two different worlds - the starstruck high of Hollywood, and the depths of underground punk culture and sleazy drug dealing. But while their lives appear to be polar opposites, both are unaware of the unhealthy connections that are spiraling their lives out of control.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! If you're here from the LazyTown fandom, here's another fic coming from an rp we are currently working on! It's going to be a bumpy ride, but we hope you'll enjoy reading! First chapter is long and sweet, but sets up the angst that comes after.

June 12, 1982

8:14 PM

San Fernando Garden Apartments, Pacoima

Los Angeles

______

The ambient sounds of police sirens, breaking glass, and laughing children traveled through the streets of Los Angeles just as a well-kept El-Diablo convertible parked itself outside a row of pueblo-style apartment buildings. The California climate, habitually arid and sweltering hot, decided to be forgiving today. As the sun set, so did the heat, allowing the residents of Pacoima to rest easy knowing their children wouldn't be sticking themselves into fridges for a little reprieve.

Two men, both unsettlingly identical in features, yet entirely distinct in appearance, exited their car with a heat in their bellies that could rival that of the sidewalk.

The thinner of the two, smaller in frame with undefined muscle, led the way to their apartment with raised shoulders and eyes pointed floorwards. The other, barrel-chested in every meaning of the word, was spitting insults at the ground and stewing in a pot of his own aggression.

"Stan, please..." Stanford started tiredly as he unlocked their door, "You'll wake Mrs. Alma."

“Then let her wake up...!” Despite his anger, Stanley, the larger of the two, hushed his tone, frustrations coming out as lowered hisses. Once the door was shut behind them, Stan threw his jacket aggressively against a folding chair, and flopped back-first onto their single queen mattress.

“That’s the third time this week we’ve been rejected! These fucking asswipe producers couldn’t see raw talent even if punched ‘em in the kisser...” he kicked off his shoes and glared up at a stain on the ceiling.

"June is just...a congested audition month," Stanford sighed, making sure to lock the deadbolt on their front door, "All the newbies are showing up with stars in their eyes...but they're young and impressionable and attractive. Once summer's over you-ll-we'll be good as golden, okay?"

Stanley groaned, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to glare at the ceiling, looking a lot like a petulant child.

“It just! It sucks, Sixer! The only gigs were gettin’ right now are infomercials, and that’s not exactly cutting it...” he rolled over onto his stomach, grabbing a couple of beers from the side of the bed. He sighed, “Want one?”

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll take one..."

Maybe it would help him relax. Despite his calm demeanor, Stanford was a bundle of live wire and nerves just under his skin. He had something to tell Stanley...but he wasn't sure  _when_. He sat down beside his brother, popping his beer open and taking a swig,

"Stan...if you were an only child...what sort of acting gigs would you audition for?"

“What?” Stanley blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. He’d never thought about that. He’d always enjoyed acting twin roles with Stanford. “I guess...uhm...” he stared at his bottle as he wracked his brain, taking another swig.

He was really good at sales. He knew he was. But they weren’t fun, or long term. And they never paid much.

“I guess...I’d like to be in an action flick? Or...hell. Maybe a TV series where I get to travel. That’d be cool.”

"You'd be an  _amazing_  action star," Stanford smiled softly and kicked his shoes off, letting himself relax finally, "I...I think you should audition for one of those roles, sometime. Don't..don't you think?"

“But...what about  _us_?” Stan glanced over at Ford, looking unsure. “We’ve always been together. There’s not a lot of twins together in the business.”

"Well...yeah," Stanford bit the inside of his cheek, "But we're not kids anymore, Stanley. It worked when we were babies; those diaper commercials and car ads...But people just aren't looking for twins in their 30's. Don't you ever think I might...be holding you back?"

“I’ve never thought that,” Stanley answered easily, instantly. He took a swig of his beer, “I’ve always thought we were pretty great together.”

"We can be-er-We  _are_..." Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose, glasses lifting from their place as he tried preventing an oncoming headache, "Stan, this is the second month in a row we've missed our rent check. We  _really_  need the money and..." his forehead pressed against the rim of his bottle as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I auditioned for a role yesterday."

“You—“ Stan gripped his bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Y-you did?” He paused, “Well...w-what’s the word, Sixer?”

"....I've got a call-back on Friday," He answered apologetically, but there was no denying the underlying excitement in his voice, "I-it's for a detective drama they've got in the works! Broadcast on ABC!"

ABC? Damn.

“O-oh! That...that’s great. That’s great, Ford.” The uncomfortable lump was still present in his throat, and he took back the rest of his bottle. “Detective is a...that sounds right up your alley.”

"It's a role I've  _always_ wanted to explore!" Stanford had a hopeful, distant look in his eyes, one that fell upon seeing Stanley's feigned support, "I, uh..." he offered and awkward smile, "I dropped your name at the audition?"

“You did?” Stan put on a small, but hopeful smile. “Thanks, buddy. Here...” He pulled out two more beers. “Cheers to your success. I bet you’ll be great.”

"Thanks, Stan..." he clinked his glass against his brother's. "Don't prematurely celebrate on my behalf though," his face fell as he squeezed his fingers close into his fist, "I probably won't even get the part..."

“Don’t say that, Sixer. I’m sure you’ll get it.” Stanley couldn’t wipe the sadness off his face, but despite that, he wanted to be genuinely happy for his brother. He’d always been the better actor. He wasn’t going to doubt him.

"That being said, I think you should start looking into some of your own solo roles, right?" Stanford steered the conversation into something he deemed more positive, "I-I got some info from Studio 9," he pulled out his rolodex filled with phone numbers, "They're looking for some guys to sell their pancake griddles."

“...pancake griddles. Yeah.” Stanley held the tip of the bottle against his mouth, a slight frown on his face. “Guess they can’t sell themselves.”

"I told them you'd be  _perfect_  for the job!" Stanford smiled, face reddening from his beers, "You're so good at sales. You could sell  _shit_  and people would buy it."

“I know,” Stanley took another swig. “Anything is sellable when I’m the one selling it! But...” he sighed and leaned back on the bed again, “Sales is boring. And unreliable.”

"I know you'll... _we'll_  make it!" He flopped backwards to be level with his brother, "I really think things are going up from here, Stan. I hope you're not cross with me."

“Ha...I cant be that upset, bro. It’s...we need the money, you know? So...do what you gotta do.” He forced a smile, raising his half empty bottle in the air. “Pines forever!”

"Pines forever," Stanford clinked his own bottle against his brother's before chugging it down, his sigh transforming into a yawn as his eyes fluttered closed. "Could...could you turn the air on tonight? It's sticky in here."

“Yeah...I can do that.” Stanley pushed himself up off the bed, finishing off his beer and throwing it away. He walked over to the thermostat and turned it on, the setting having been off all day. “Ugh...I’m gonna take a cold shower.” He took off his shirt on his way to the bathroom, dropping it on the floor and closing the door.

"Mmmhhmm..." Stanford mumbled, barely awake with his beer still in hand. He drowned out the noises of sirens and children wailing from the apartments above them. It was an all so typical ambience to fall asleep to, and tonight was no exception. He fell asleep peacefully thinking that Stan held no ill-will towards his decision to solo his audition, allowing a simple smile to accompany him in sleep.

“Hey, Sixer, you—“ Stanley stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel against his hair. He took note that his brother was already fast asleep.

“You lightweight...” he chuckled and shook his head, draping the towel around his shoulders as he discarded the empty beer bottle. He tucked Stanford in, setting his glasses on the side table. He was glad his brother was able to sleep so easily, because he sure wasn’t going to have the same luck.

Silently, he collected some cash and put on a clean set of clothes, locking the door behind him.

He didn’t want to have an emotional breakdown where Stanford could possibly see him, so he lit a cigarette and drove down to a gay bar he’d started to frequent ever since coming to terms with his sexuality. He wouldn’t be out too late, he just wanted to drink enough to forget...and maybe release some steam.

* * *

 

Stanford got a good seven hours of sleep in that night; not entirely restful, but it was leagues better than his usual schedule. When he awoke he was startled to see Stan missing from their bed, but he had an inkling of where he may have run off to. Thankfully, as expected, Stan returned home later that afternoon wearing less clothes than he'd left with.

Ford said nothing, simply allowing Stan to wash away whatever the night had thrown at him. Eventually, Stanford finally got the courage to speak up.

"Stan," he began nervously, "would you drive me to my call-back tomorrow? It's too far away for a cab."

“Yeah,” Stan’s voice was hoarse, but he sounded more relaxed than yesterday. His eyes seemed puffy and red, with dark circles underneath, and he squirt in a few eyedrops. “Is it at the studios?”

"Down Hollywood Boulevard? Yeah," he rubbed his arms awkwardly, "You can come in with me. If you'd like...There's a waiting room." A part of him severely wished Stan wouldn't accept that offer, but another was far too afraid to go it alone.

Stanley was quiet for a moment, running some water through his hair. It was getting long... “I might hang around. Maybe I’ll see what’s happening around the other studios?”

"Great! The man selling his pancake griddles is just around the corner too," Stanford offered at an attempt at being encouraging. He was rifling through his abysmal wardrobe with a concentrated expression, "Oh Jesus, I don't know what to wear. They already saw the  _single_  suitcoat I own..."

“Just wear another one of your button-ups. You don’t have to be fully dressed...as long as ya look nice.” Stanley filled a cup with water and chugged a couple pain pills down with it. “You’ll do fine.”

He tossed his jacket down and picked up a simple black shirt. Ford seemed appeased until getting a look at himself in the mirror. "Should I shave? Or maybe this character needs some stubble? Or maybe I should have let it grow into a beard?" He was nitpicking now, his anxiety letting his thoughts run wild as he made everything more important than it should have been.

“Ford! Ford...come on, buddy.” Stan chuckled a little and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Get it together, okay? I think...you should shave. And then if you get the part, they’ll tell you what kind of facial hair you should have, okay?”

Stanford's racing thoughts stepped on the breaks momentarily, his brother's words allowing him to slow down.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll shave." He pat his brother's hand before moving to the bathroom to do just that.

Stanley smiled a little and changed into a soft t-shirt, flopping down onto the bed. “Hey, you wanna go do laundry today? I have a few extra quarters.”

"Please?" Could be heard from the bedroom, "My clothes smell like shit, and my nicest button up's covered in some sort of...soapy stuff."

“Awesome. Our sheets are getting gross.” Stan pushed off the bed and pulled out a basket to throw dirty sheets and clothes into. “We can make a day of it.”

"I'd like that," Stanford hummed a little tune as he shaved away the stubble he'd been neglecting for a few days. He felt like a chipper new man with a clean face, his conscious clearing after telling Stanley the truth about his audition.

Well...most of the truth.

"But I'm  _not_  drinking. I can't be hungover for the callback tomorrow."

Not again.

“Fine, fine. Should be saving money anyways.” That, and Stanley ended up drinking more the previous night than he had planned. His expert gambling (aka, cheating) earned him back what he spent, but that was besides the point.

“We could get some Micky D’s and drive outside of town and smoke a bit? That’ll keep ya calm.”

"That sounds like a plan," Stanford lotioned his face with the cheapest cream available,"Maybe park near Mount Lee? They should be setting off fireworks tonight for some Cancer cause."

“Sweet! It’s gonna be a good day.” Stan just wanted to spend a chill day with his brother, and forget about the fact that the same brother had auditioned for a role without him.

He scratched at his own stubbly chin and hefted two full baskets of laundry in his arms.

"Let me just..." Stanford tossed his own clothes into a tall basket, autumnal sweaters and oversized shirts cascading down like a waterfall. "Okay, I think I should be good."

He gave Stan's clothes basket a whiff, "Ah Jesus, is that our sheets?"

“Yeah. Fuckin' rank, huh?” Stanley chuckled and took the baskets out to the El Diablo.

"Wouldn't be so nasty if you found a better place to jack it," Ford half-joked as he set his basket in the back seat.

“Hey! At least it’s only on my side.” He snorted and slipped into the driver’s seat.

"Is it?" Ford asked incredulously with a smile, "I still don't know what the shit on my pillow is."

“Could be my pillow that you stole. You...pillow stealer.” He backed out of his parking spot and pulled out onto the road.

"Good one," Stanford replied sarcastically, but not unkindly, "Your vocabulary astounds me. Stick to driving."

“Hush, you.” A wry smile pulled at Stanley’s lips and he drove to the nearby laundromat. “Heyyy, Susan,” he winked at the attendant on duty as the twins strode inside. “How’s it hanging?”

"My Pine Trees!" Susan shouted over the sound of the dryers while smacking a faulty machine, "You been dirty again? Remember, we only wash clothes here!"

Stanley gave her a big grin, “Well I might be a little dirty! But I showered last night...just for you, honeypants.” He giggled to himself and started stuffing the bedsheets in one of the washers.

"Ohhh!" She waved her hand at him coquettishly, giving the machine one last smack before it erupted to life. "Ah! here you go, Hiro."

A customer gave her a thankful nod and took over the dryer.

Stanford watched as Susan went to go refill the coin machine, eyes trailing after her until out of sight.

"You ever gonna' ask Susan out?" he asked his brother, "I can never tell when your flirting is serious."

Stanley shrugged as he poured some detergent into the washing machine. “I dunno, Sixer...” he inserted some quarters and started the laundry. “She’s real nice and I... I dunno. I’m not good enough for her.”

"Spin, washer, spin!" Susan repeatedly smacked another machine, voice shrill and annoyed.

"Uh...huh..." Stanford puffed out his cheeks, "Well, I know things have been hard since...well, you know. The stuff with Carla and all..."

Stanley grunted, and he took another machine to throw clothes in. “I don’t think I’m ready for anything serious anytime soon.”

"Okay..." Stanford sighed and shoved his own clothes in a separate machine, "I'm just asking because...uhm..." he let his shoulders fall, "I know you've been going to that club an awful lot lately. It's _fine_ , just...I want you to be careful."

Stan’s body went rigid for a moment, and he avoided making eye contact with Stanford. “...I am careful.”

"There's shit going around," his brother whispered softly, "A buddy of mine's been telling me there's people getting sicker by the minute down in the Red-Light District. You  _promise_  you're being careful? Every time?"

“Every time,” Stanley promised earnestly. “It usually never goes further than...” he made a motion to jacking off. “I know what I’m doin.”

Stanford was quiet, face unreadable for a moment until coming to a conclusion.

"Okay. Okay...just been on my mind. I trust you," he let himself smile, "Can't go losing my best friend to that culture."

Stanley frowned, “...’culture’? Sixer, come on. I’ve been out to you for like a year now. Gotta stop talking like that...”  

"That-" Ford hesitated with a blush, "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all...I mean..." he sighed out his jitters, "No. That was shitty of me, I'm sorry."

“It’s cool, Sixer.” He sighed and scratched his head. “But...you have a right to be worried. I had...I had a friend. Another regular at the club. And he...he died last week. Been a lot less people coming around and I can’t tell if it’s because they stopped going out, or...if...” he wrung his hands together. “I promise I’m being careful.”

Stanford nodded, a bond of trust forming between the two on the topic. "I believe you," he sat atop one of the unused washers, "Sorry about your friend."

“Yeah.” Stanley sighed and slid down with his back against a washer, facing Stanford. “World’s changin’.”

"Well...here's a good thing," Stanford lifted a newspaper from a table near them and held it up, "Boys in Palo Alto just released something that can read Computer Disks and play music. They say they'll replace 8 Tracks and Vinyl entirely!"

“Shit! Really?” Stan grabbed the newspaper, eyebrows raising. “That’s freakin’ nuts. Tech keeps improving faster and faster, it seems.”

"Yeah! They say people will be able to have music in their  _pocket_ ," he replied giddily. Anything involving math and science always managed to get his blood boiling, "Imagine playing the classics while walking down the street!"

“That’s crazy!” Stanley laughed a little, handing the newspaper back. “Ah man...taking music with you anywhere you go? That’s the dream.”

"We've got that in the car, I suppose," Stanford checked the time on his machine.

13 Minutes.

"I really can't stand that heavy metal rock and schlock they've been playing recently, though."

“What? You think it’s no good?” Stanley cocked a smirk, crossing his arms.

"It's just  _noise_ , Stan!" he complained like some old man, "Just violent noise. How am I supposed to dance to it, you know? It's not intellectually stimulating."

“Music doesn’t have to be ‘intellectually stimulating’. You just gotta feel it, Sixer. Just gotta move.”

"Well, I  _feel_  like throwing up whenever that 'Under Blade' song comes on," he chuckled, "I didn't take you to be the type to groove to that."

“Hey! Twisted Sister ain’t so bad...” Stanley chuckled, “Ain’t nothin’ like what we grew up with, though. Can’t beat my man Elvis.”

"Ah!" He placed a hand over his heart with relief, "There's my twin. Thought I lost you for a second!"

“I got an open mind for music, Stanford,” he grinned, “But my heart will always be for The King.”

"Ah, so Elvis is what turned you gay," Ford joked, body vibrating from both laughter and by one of the machines being turned on next to him.

“No—!” Stanley blushed. “Well...maybe.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Still like girls too, though.”

"But it started at Elvis," he hummed delightfully, "I don't blame you. Those blue-suede shoes defy gender and sexuality."

Stanley sighed, “That they do...” he paused, and then coughed into his fist. “Looks like the washers are done!” He hastily pulled the wet laundry out of the washing machines and transferred them to the dryers.

"Ah, geeze." Their clothes left a puddle of water as they were transferred into the next stage of their cycle, "U-uh, Susan? We've had ourselves a little spill!"

Susan came back holding a mop, a bemused smile on her face.

"See, boys? Messy messy.."

“Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. Seems it didn’t drain enough...” Stanley smiled sheepishly, starting the drying cycle.

"That's okay. It never does!" she mopped up the spill easily, "Doesn't stop you from coming by, though! I must be irresistible!"

“I’d miss ya too much if I went somewhere else.” Stan started the dryer, “Plus! You’ve got the cheapest prices around! It’s worth it.”

"Haha. I'm cheap!" She guffawed with a dizzying laugh, her tall hair withstanding the power of the turbo powered fans that hung from the walls.

Stanley laughed along with her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He glanced at his brother, and then looked back at Susan.

“H-hey....Susan?”

"Uh huh?" she turned towards him with wide, sparkling eyes, eyelids heavy from her caked-on eyeshadow.

“W-would you...uh...” he started to sweat bullets, tugging at his collar. He coughed, “Y-you wanna go grab a pizza some...sometime?”

Stanford's eyebrows twitched upwards with surprise, and he felt his eyes popping between Susan and his brother.  Susan stood there vaguely with her mop, something dreamy and not all the way there.

"I'd love to!" she finally said.

“R-really...? I mean! Awesome!” Stanley’s face lit up. “Uhm...maybe...I could take you out after your shift on Saturday?”

"Okay!!" She excitedly held onto her mop, "Would ya like my number??"

“Sure!!” Stan pat himself down, realizing he had nothing on him. “I’m uh. I’m assuming you have paper?” He chuckled.

"Nope!" she giggled and began to write her number on Stanley's forearm, "Now don't shower too soon! I want you to memorize it!"

“You don’t gotta worry about that,” he grinned. “I’ll memorize it best I can, sweetheart.” He felt himself blushing as Susan wrote the last number.

"You know where to find me," she drew a little cat face after her number, giving him a little wink before turning to place the mop in the backroom.

Stanford couldn't stop a little smile from forming.

"Too good for you, huh?"

“S-shut up. I think I just grew some balls.” He chuckled awkwardly and scratched his neck, staring at the number on his arm fondly.

"Mmmhmm," he didn't argue with Stan as a wave of relief washed over him for a  _number_ of reasons. He could only smile fondly while the timer ticked down to their clothes completion. Stanford flinched when the dryer buzzed, and he slipped off to collect his belongings.

Stanley joined Stanford by the dryer and helped fold the clothes, dropping them into the baskets.  A few clothes fell on the floor when he pulled out the sheets, and he cursed under his breath and quickly picked them up.

"Leagues better than how they smelled before," Stanford noted and hugged the warmth of their finished laundry to his face, "Now I have my entire outfit for tomorrow."

“Haha! Yeah!” Stanley gave his brother a winning smile, hefting the baskets up in his arms. “We’re gonna smell so amazing we’ll be irresistible.”

Stanford hesitated, momentarily wondering if Stanley forgot the audition tomorrow was only for _him_.

"Y-yeah! those producers should hire me on the spot!"

“They definitely will.” Stanley turned his back to Ford and started walking towards the door.  “I’ll see  _you_ on Saturday,” he winked at Susan.

"I'll be waiting!" Susan just couldn't contain a girlish giggle, barely able to maintain eye contact with Stan on his way out.

Stanley was grinning ear to ear, and he shoved the baskets of clothes into the back seat of of the El Diablo. He hopped into the front seat and turned on some celebratory rock n’ roll.

"Well, congratulations, Casanova," Stanford buckled up with a proud smile, "We're  _still_ not drinking tonight, though. We'll celebrate with McDonalds."

“Don’t need booze when I got grass!” Stan winked and backed out of the lot, starting the drive over to a McDonald’s drive in.

Stanford relaxed in his seat, turning the music down as they reached the speaker for the drive-through.He didn't bother telling Stan what he wanted; he knew his order by heart.

"Do you need me to pay for my food?"

“Yeah, just hand me a couple bucks.” Stan ordered a couple Big Macs, a Quarter Pounder, a Filet-O-Fish, and an apple pie for them to share, along with a couple of cokes and fries. “We’re feasting tonight, Sixer!”

"I'll kill you if you fart up a storm tonight," Stanford warned as he held their feast in his lap, feeling gross from the conjoined heat of the air and the steaming carbs wafting up from the bags.

“I’ll take some Rolaids just for you,” Stanley stuck his tongue out and started driving outside town, headed towards a small, secluded park where they could smoke and eat in peace.

Stanford stretched himself out after stepping out of the car, smiling calmly as the mountain air rushed through his hair and against the warmth on his neck.  It felt amazing to be away from the congestion of city-life, if only for a moment.

He sat himself atop the hood of the El Diablo, jumping when a distant crack of fireworks shot up into the air and lit up the evening sky.

“Aw Hell yeah! Just in time!” Stanley grinned and sat beside his brother, leaning back against the windshield.  He pulled out a bag of weed and began to roll a blunt, taking a big hit before passing it over to Stanford. “Days like this make life worth livin’.”

"It's great to hear these sounds and  _know_ it's not a gun," Stanford agreed and took two hits from his blunt before passing it back.

Whoo. Stan always managed to get some smokey shit...

"Reminds me of..." he yawned out a great puff of smoke, "Fourth of July back in Glass Shard."

“Yeah...” Stan took another hit before setting the blunt between them, picking up his Big Mac and digging into it. “Sometimes I miss the Jersey beach.”

"It's less crowded than the beaches here, that's for sure..." Stanford took a fry and started playing around with it, "...How do you think Mom's doing?"

“Good...I hope.” Stan stared up at the fireworks. “She doesn’t take dad’s bullshit...we should probably call her.”

"Yeah..." Stanford sighed quite remorsefully, "I still feel like-I don't know...are we terrible people for leaving her behind?" His fry went limp in his hand, "Are we terrible for moving out here?"

“Sometimes...I think so...” he licked his lips. “I don’t know. Mom wanted us to follow our dreams, y’know? I wanna make her proud.”

"I want it all to be worth-while," Ford finally ate his fry, "I want her to look up at her television and go 'That's Stanford. That's my son.'"

“Yeah....” something unsettling befell Stan's stomach, and he set aside his burger to take another hit from the blunt. “I want her to to be able to brag about her boys.”

"She will..." Stanford squinted up at the fireworks with a tired smile,  "Or she could keep lying and say we're astrophysicists. She seems to like to tell her friends that."

Stanley chuckled, “Well I could see  _you_ being an astro—whatever,” he leaned his head back with a small smile. “I don’t know what I would be doing without this.”

In all honesty, Ford couldn't really think of what Stan would be doing without this either.

"We're...we're gonna' be fine," he squeezed his eyes shut and let his body go numb, "That's what this weed says, at least."

“Well...I’ll believe the weed for now, then,” Stan wrapped an arm around Ford’s shoulder, sucking down some of his soda. “We’ll be good.”

"We'll be _great_." He didn't flinch at his brother's touch, simply letting his body relax while the smoke from their grass mixed with the smokey flavors of the fireworks.  Their eyes were red and tired, and flashes of rainbow danced across their vision as the fireworks came to a dramatic finale.

“So many...colors...” Stanley blew out some smoke, meal long finished.  He squinted at the sky after the finale ended, leftover colored smoke floating through the air. “Haha. Wow. I’m high as shit.” He swirled his ice around in his cup.

"Need me to drive back when we're ready?" Stanford chuckled, none too sober himself. He was laying flat on the hood of the car, eyes pointing skyward, unsure if his vision was just blurry, or if it was the weed, or if it was the fireworks.

“Hmm...we’ll see.” He looked in the bottom of the bag, “Damn. No leftover fries...” he sighed and stretched his arms up, resting them behind his head. “Shoulda left myself some munchies.”

"Eat a pinecone," Ford said easily, "Just...just eat a pinecone." He was kidding, and he couldn't stop chuckling at the absurdity of that idea.

“Maybe I will!” Stanley laughed, glancing over at the trees. “....wait!” He giggled and rolled off the car, flipping into the back seat. “Ah hell yeah! Still got some toffee peanuts. Want some?”

"Noooo thanks," he lifted a hand up, "I don't want my teeth to break before tomorrow, thank you very much." His eyes contradicted his words, however, and eventually he was stuffing his hand in the bag to get a fist full of peanuts in his mouth.

Stanley laughed, “This counts as theft.” He tugged the bag away from Stanford teasingly as he shoved a handful into his mouth.

"I'm only eating them-" he said through mouthfuls of food, "because I'm high as hell. I hate these things."

“If you say so!” Stanley chuckled and popped another one into his mouth, sucking on it a bit before chewing. “Kinda wish I had more fries...” he huffed and picked at his teeth.

"Let's get more fries, then!" Ford gave him a very sleepy, high smile, "The night's still young. We can be wild."

“You’re  _so_ right,” Stanley grinned, eyes wide like he’d had a revelation.  “Probably...probably shouldn’t drive. E-either of us. Good thing there are McDonald’s everywhere.”

“Are you suggesting we walk?” Stanford flopped a little to the side on the hood of the car, “I don’t...I don’t think we should do that.”

“Hmm..” Stanley rolled his neck a bit, “I just don’t wanna get caught. I guess I’ve driven drunk before...probably more sober now than I was then.” He rubbed under his nose. “Let’s go grab some fries and head back home, then. Where there’s air conditioning.”

“I trust you more behind the wheel than walking high down the highway-Heh. Highway-“ he stopped to momentarily chuckle at what was presumably a joke, “I think we  _should_ get going back. Weirdos will be out soon”

Stanley laughed a little, “Cause we ain’t weirdos?” He hopped off the car and slipped into the driver’s seat, picking up a not-quite-empty, warm water bottle off the floor to take a swig.

“You know what I mean,” Stanford made an attempt at cleaning up their litter and tossed it in the back seat, “I don’t feel like getting mugged tonight.”

“Nah...me neither.” Stanley buckled up and pulled away from the clearing, driving at an even pace back onto the highway.

“Honestly I think you drive  _better_ when your high,” Stanford snickered and let his seat fall back so he could lay.  Ugh, everything was making him  _so_ tired lately. He hoped he could scarf down some fries before passing out.

“Hah, you think so?” Stan smirked, “Just tryin’ to be careful.”  He glanced over at his brother and snorted, “Don’t go Fallin’ asleep on me yet, Sixer. Here—“ he turned on the radio, volume raised just a bit.

“Gah!” Stanford jolted up, a little twitchy from the weed. Soon after he relaxed back into his seat, smacking his dry mouth together, “At least it’s not that metal junk.”

“Yeah, and if you fall asleep, I  _will_ put on the ‘metal junk.’” He cackled and pulled up to the McDonald’s drive through, ordering two large fries to hold them over.  “Here ya go, buddy.” He handed one to Stanford as he pulled back onto the road.

“Many thanks,” he hummed before taking a tremendous amount of fries and stuffing them into his mouth.  Oh, that hit the spot perfectly...

Stanley hummed along with the music as he drove back to their small apartment, fingers tapping against the wheel as he shoveled some fries into his mouth.  He wished this wouldn’t change. He wanted to have more money to support him and his brother, but he didn’t want what they had, right now, to ever change.

He sighed with relief when they got back to the complex safe and sound, stumbling only slightly out of the car.

“Lock it. Lock it...” Stanford pat the car window unceremoniously with both hands, eyes barely open in his exhaustion.

“I know, I know...” Stan hauled out both baskets of laundry with uncoordinated arms, shutting the doors and locking the car.  He held the fry container in his mouth with his teeth, handling both baskets of laundry while he waited for Ford to unlock their apartment door.

There was minimal fumbling with the keys once they reached the door, though it did take a moment for Stanford to decipher which key unlocked which lock. He was grateful for a blast of decently cool air once inside, and instantly walked forward to slam face first onto their sheet-less mattress.

“Good ol’ AC!” Stan whooped and just let himself crash on the floor, looking up at the ceiling with a dumb smile.  He finished the last of his fries and turned his head to look at Stanford.

“Hey, buddy. Don’t forget to brush your teeth and change outta your clothes tonight.”

But Stanford didn’t respond with words, only a light snore that indicated he was already out like a light.  His hand hung off the mattress and into the floor, some fries laying unceremoniously at his finger tips.

Stanley could only roll his eyes, and he picked himself off the floor to adjust his brother.

When Stanford fell asleep after a high, there was practically nothing that could wake him up, so it wasn’t much of a hassle to move him while Stanley fit the bed with the clean sheets, and he at least took his brother’s shirt off for him.  He tucked Stanford in and lit a cigarette, opening the window to blow smoke outside and listen to the calming sound of LA chaos in the distance.

Snuffing his cigarette, he closed the window and brushed his teeth, chugging water before finally slipping into bed next to his brother.

“Goodnight, Sixer,” he yawned, flipping the light off and falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley drives his brother to his call-back audition. A wild Fiddleford appears.

Stanford was up early, body comfortably numb from a leftover high that had followed him into the morning. His mouth smelled vulgar; a mix of hamburger, salt and marijuana that _no_ casting director could forgive. He brushed his teeth like crazy, plenty of pink trickling down the drain after he spit. When it looked like his teeth were about done, he reapplied toothpaste and started all over.

Awoken by running water and aggressive brushing, Stanley let out a soft groan as he stretched out in bed. He flopped over onto the other side so he could poke his head around the corner to see Stanford hovering over the sink.

“Mornin’, Sixer. You brush hard enough yet?”

"I want to smell saint-like," Ford said with a mouthful of toothpaste, looking like some rabid, foaming dog, "How do I smell?" he asked after rinsing twice with mouthwash and blowing air into Stan's face, "Do I need another go?"

Stanley chuckled and backed away, “I think you’re good. Your breath doesn’t smell like you were high yesterday, but I hope you plan on taking a shower.”

"O-oh yeah," he sniffed himself, instantly cringing at the result, "Better have hot water today..." He began undressing in a flash, determined to take the quickest shower imaginable even though there was no chance they'd be running late.

“You need to chill, man...gonna give yourself a heart attack.” Stanley finally stood up from the bed and cracked his neck. “I’ll make breakfast while you’re in there.”

"Thank you!" Stanford shouted kindly as he hopped into the bathroom. He then poked his head out. "Could...could you make sausage?  _Lots_ of it?" He was starving after a full night's rest, and he could never deny some grade-A meat.

“You got it!” Stan scratched his tummy and wandered into the small kitchen, opening the fridge to gauge what he had to work with this morning. They had a few eggs left, some bacon, the all-important sausage…there was some cheese and a tomato they seemed to have forgotten about, but it was still edible.

Part of Stan was hoping his brother wouldn’t get the job...but...if he did. They could have a lot more food...a lot more everything.

He took a deep breath and started heating up the stove, dicing up tomatoes and mixing them into the scrambled eggs, letting the cheese melt over it while bacon and sausage cooked in the oven.

Stanford made quick work of showering, nose leading him back into their studio apartment, "Oh my god, that smells amazing..." he came back with a towel wrapped around his waist, glasses slipping down from the steam.

“You bet it does,” Stanley grinned, pushing the eggs around in the pan, “Do you want toast?”

"Please," he removed his towel to dry his hair off while slipping his nice, clean clothes on. He was incredibly grateful for Stan's ability to cook, but he was far too focused on his audition to give a proper thank you.

Stanley gave a thumbs up and plated up the eggs while he set some bread slices into the toaster. He checked on the meats in the oven, and when they looked done, he set the pan up on the stove to cool down.

“Juice?”

Stanford nodded vigorously and pulled out a temp script that he had shoved under their bed, eyes scanning the page back and forth.

Stanley plated up the rest of the food and set a plate and a cup filled with orange juice in front of his brother, and he sat across fro him and immediately dug into his toast.

“So is it like a serious detective role? Or is it more of like a comedy/action type of show?”

"A serious role!" Stanford said ecstatically, eyes wide like a child. Soon after, he coughed into his fist with a blush, pushing his voice and face into something that would fit the role better.

"He's the gritty type; a grizzled romantic lead. I'm taking some inspiration from Film Noir."

Stanley smirked a little, and bit into a slice of bacon. “That sounds cool. I think you’re gonna be the perfect fit.”

"I've never done anything so...serious before!" Stanford pressed his hands to his chest to still its insane beating, but found himself looking intensely at his hands again. "I...I've never had _any_ big studio give me the time of day after seeing my hands," he looked like he could almost cry, "The casting director said her boss thought they'd work perfectly for the roll. My hands! Perfect for a role!"

Stanley looked up at Stanford, feeling all his frustration absolutely melt away when he saw the emotion on his brother’s face.

“Sixer...that’s...hell! That’s fucking fantastic.” He reached across the table to pat Stanford’s arm. “I bet no one else is gonna have hands like yours. You’re gonna blow ‘em away today.”

Stanford felt a well of wonderful tingles run up his arm, and he finally put the script down to partake in the breakfast his brother had made.

"Thanks, Stan. I'm gonna' make mom proud."

“Fuck yeah, you are.” He pulled back with the biggest smile he could manage, “Now fill up. You ain’t gonna be any good on an empty stomach.”

Stanford nodded, licking his lips greedily before digging into Stan's food. He would have to brush his teeth again after this but he didn't care if it meant stuffing his stomach with sausage. He ate without grace and without hesitation, humming happily with every bite.

"How did you get so good at making food, man?"

Stanley shrugged with confidence, “Hey. One of us had to be good at cooking, or else we’d be having ramen for every meal.”

"I perish the thought," Stanford said through mouthfuls of egg, wincing at the idea of having to eat boxes of ramen every single day. It would have absolutely murdered his insides. Like a vulture, he finished his plate within seconds, content with his share.

"I'm gonna' brush up again!" He said, sitting up to go back into the bathroom to nitpick himself  _one_ more time before they headed out.

“You do that,” Stan shook his head and collected the empty plates, setting them in the sink to wash later. He opted to take a quick shower and threw on some cologne, wearing a simple combo of a white t-shirt and his nicest pair of jeans. He brushed his teeth and picked some toast out from behind one of his molars. “How you doing? Ready to go soon?”

"I think so," Stanford adjusted his tie and tucked it into a worn mustard cardigan. It was going to be hot outside, but that only meant the studio space would be _blasting_  the AC. Best to dress warm.

"Do I look...okay?"

“You look _great_ ,” Stan assured, grabbing his wallet and keys off the counter. “You look like a straight-edge. No hints of weed to be found,” he chuckled.

"Oh good," Ford visibly relaxed and pushed his glasses up, "Okay. Okay, I'm ready. I got this. One hundred percent…”

“Yeah. You got this.” Stan gave Ford a thumbs up and shut the door behind the both of them, locking it before hopping into the driver seat of his car. “Let’s do this!”

He started up the El Diablo and took off towards Hollywood Boulevard.

Stanford rolled his window down fully, letting his kinky hair flap in the wind before they reached the congestion of the Los Angeles highways. He rolled the window back up at the nearest sign of traffic, urging his brother to blast the air.

Stan complied, blasting the AC as they entered the city limits. They were used to the congested LA traffic, and they sat patiently as it moved along.

“You holdin’ up there?”

“Yeah,” Stanford relaxed in his seat, “Wish I knew what to expect today. They didn’t ask me to prepare anything at _all_. I have no clue what they’re planning!”

Stanley hummed in thought, “Well whatever you’re doing, I bet you’ll be able to handle it.” He gave Stanford’s arm a nudge.

He couldn’t ignore the heaviness in the pit of his stomach as they pulled up to the studios, pulling out his clearance for parking. He took a deep breath and found a parking spot, close to the designated studio for Ford’s audition.

Stanford took a calming breath before putting on a perfectly passable smile; whether it was real or not couldn’t be determined, for he truly _was_  a gifted actor.

“You really shouldn’t stay here in the car,” he admitted, “You’ll roast like a dog.”

“I guess so,” Stan hopped out of the car and stretched. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at you in action, since you’re _not_  advertising”

“I’ll see if they’ll let you watch!” Stanford said hopefully, “It should just be a few casting directors, at least. Maybe producers? They weren’t very clear. But it’s so hot outside, surely they won’t let you die in this heat.” There was a spring in his step against the sweltering blacktop now, eyes glued to the studio ahead of them.

“That would be _great_. I’ll die out here,” Stanley chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I can make some connections....” he didn’t sound too sure, but he tried to push through any remaining disappointment down so he could be fully supportive.

As they walked into the studio, they were greeted by a sharply dressed woman, her hair pulled up in a bun. She had a clipboard in her hand, and she almost dropped it upon seeing the unsettlingly identical twins.

“G-good afternoon, gentlemen!” She looked between the two of them, until she decided to set her eyes on the bespectacled twin. “Stanford Pines...if I’m correct?”

“Yes! That would be me. Greetings!” He neglected to hold his hand out on instinct, instead offering her a respectful nod of the head, “I do hope it’s okay that I’ve brought my brother along to observe? He was my ride.”

She gave Stanley a once-over before smiling. “My boss was very adamant about wanting to see you audition again, so anything to make you more at ease is welcome.” She wrote something down on her clipboard, and Stanley gave his brother an encouraging shake of his shoulder.

“Okay, boys, follow me.” The woman led the twins down a hall, to the final door, which opened up into the large studio space. There was a plain backdrop set up, and random props lined the walls. The casting directors sat at a fold-out table, and there were two separate lines formed in front of them.

There were only a select amount of people filling the room - all the callbacks from the previous audition.

“Stanford, you’ll be standing in the line to your left,” the woman pointed with her pen. “Sign in, and then the directors will tell you where to go.”

It was obviousthat Stanford hadn’t even expected a _fraction_  of this crowd. He had made an assumption that it would just be himself and maybe one or two directors.

But an entire _set_?

His eyes were wide, and his mouth dried instantly.

“O-of course! Yes!” He gave his brother a little glance before walking to the left for his sign in.

“I’ll just be over here,” Stanley started walking to the side, and the woman offered him some coffee before disappearing again.

The men in the other line had not been in the previous audition, and they all looked like a different _type_  of person altogether than the role Stanford had tried for.

“Stanford Pines,” the casting director looked to his list and checked him off. “Take this number and follow the others behind the set. We will be pairing you with your partner today to see if you have chemistry.”

“A chemistry test?”

So early on in the production? His face lit up, terribly excited to have finally reached this stage in his acting career.

“Thank you! Yes, I-I’ll do that.” He spoke his thoughts aloud, his grin lifting years off his face while he queued himself in line behind a number of similarly built gentleman.

Once everyone had been checked in, one of the three casting directors announced the project to the whole group. They would be pairing up each actor in order, and would take note of pairs that did not work well together. The ones that did would then audition together in a smaller group, and finally, by process of elimination, they would find their winning actors for the new show.

Stanford felt the best sort of nervous energy run through his veins, and his head reeled from the excitement. This was _actually_  happening. He’d worked _so_  hard to get to this stage, now all he had to do was act his way to the top! He glanced around the crowd. Huh...

He could handle this well enough.

“Stanford! Stanford Pines!” Someone was waving from the other line, trying to get his attention. He had a distinct southern twang to his speech, and he was trying to be loud enough without disturbing the first pairing auditioning on the other side of the set.

“Fiddleford!” Ford nearly lost his place in line, as his first instinct was to walk straight for his friend, a fellow actor and science wiz he’d met a couple years back. Quickly, he caught himself, opting to whisper-shout back.

“You made it!”

“‘Course I did! But I’m as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.” Some of the other actors gave Fiddleford an odd look, but he paid no mind. “I’m pleased as a peach to see ya here! What do you wanna bet we do great together?” He wiggled his number, showing they had the same one.

“I’ll be acting alongside you?” Stanford looked at his number, eyes nearly sparkling at the realization of their fates. “They’re having you read for the detective’s partner, right?”

“You bet your britches.” Fiddleford grinned wide and joyful. The line moved as the next pair of actors moved to the front of the set. “Did I see your brother come in with ya?”

“Uh, yeah...” His face fell just a bit, and he looked around for any signs of his brother’s whereabouts, “He took my solo audition pretty well, I think.”

“That’s good,” Fiddleford smiled fondly, “You didn’t put enough faith in him, y’know? I gotta go make sure I say hi to him before we leave today. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him!” He laughed, “Probably doesn’t even remember my name.”

“Don’t take that to heart. He doesn’t remember most people’s names unless they owe him money,” he gave a distant little chuckle, face falling even more now as a nervous energy bubbled in his stomach, “Mmm, I did...neglect to tell them they were searching for two leads,” he looked vacantly off before snapping back to Fiddleford, “He shouldn’t mind though, right? This isn’t really his _thing_.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t rightly know,” Fiddleford gave a little shrug. “You just gotta hope for the best, right? Just be honest with him if he asks about it.”

“Perhaps...” Stanford nodded, putting any guilt he had on the back burner in favor of preparing himself for this role, “I’ll leave that for when I’m not _Detective Drecker_ ,” he said the name importantly, letting himself sink better into his persona.

“Of course.” Fiddleford smiled and turned towards the front of the line, glancing over where he had previously seen Stanley sitting.

He was gone.

Not knowing what to think of that, he followed the line until he was next, and he and Stanford were called up.

“We’d like for you two to act out Scene 7 for us, in the heat of the case. Can you do that?”

Stanford held his script like it was sacred scripture, eyes landing on a line of casting directors and one huge, ominous camera sitting in the middle of them.

“We can certainly do that. Let’s get this ball rolling!” He spun his finger around to indicate his readiness, knowing full well that time was money and there was no room for questions during a big shoot like this.

Fiddleford immediately began, his usually happy-go-lucky demeanor turning serious.

“Detective Drecker...” he walked up slowly to Stanford’s side, eyebrows knit in confusion. “This doesn’t add up to our previous evidence. Who...who could have done this?”

“That can’t be...” Stanford bounced off of him immediately, voice low and frustrated. “We had him, Kanes.We took that bastard down!” He slapped his script like it was some sort of newspaper clipping, “Wait a-“ On a whim, he pulled up a chair to sit down on, feeling like his character needed to brace himself for the information he was about to discover, “Oh god.”

“Detective?” Fiddleford held his script to his chest, voice wavering with curiosity, uncertainty, and fear. “You...you don’t think it’s...?”

“You need to call Officer Huang _now_ ,” he urged his character, unafraid to touch Fiddleford’s shoulder since they had known each other prior to their roles. He paused, before a rush of control pushed through, “ _Now_ , Kanes!”

Fiddleford gulped, “Y-yes, Sir!” He pretended to fumble with a phone, short of breath and panicked.

“Huang!! Officer Huang! We were wrong about the case—! We were...” his eyes went wide with shock, dropping the “phone.” He looked at Ford, voice barely above a whisper, “Sir. He has the police department. We’re...alone.”

“Damnit!” Stanford slammed his script to the ground in frustration, face red from his character’s oversight, “Damnit it all!” He let himself stew, glasses drooping down his nose while his eyes pleaded for a sign, but he simply broke. “That little girl’s killer is still out there because of me. _Me_ , Kanes.”

“Detective...” Fiddleford placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It is _not_  your fault. You know that...” he leveled with him, looking him in the eyes. “We’re going to get that bastard. You and me. And we’re going to make everything right.”

Unbeknownst to them, they had been going a lot longer than the other actors had, and the casting directors were absolutely enamored.

“Cut!” One of the directors shouted, almost reluctantly. “You two...could you step off to the side for us?”

Stanford’s ears heated up, assuming he had done something wrong to warrant this cut. He brushed his hair back and shrunk into himself, arms to his side.

He was about to replace the chair he’d taken before a stage hand waved him off. He stepped down with Fiddleford.

“You were great, man!” He whispered to his friend.

“I reckon you were too!” Fiddleford grinned and wrapped an arm around Stanford’s shoulder. He looked up to watch the next pair act, glancing at the camera, to the actors, and then the set. “We’re the only ones standin’ off to the side like this.”

Stanford felt a cold sweat crawl up his neck.

“Do you think it’s because we started before they said ‘action’?” He asked worriedly.

Fiddleford jostled his friend teasingly, “Nah. I don’t think that’s it. You worry too much...”

They were watching another pair act when the woman from before came up to them, holding out her clipboard and a pen. 

“Mr. Cipher wants you both.”

“Y-“ Stanford stammered, shoulders turning to jelly while his mouth began to twitch, “He wants...you mean-?”

“He just needs you to print and sign your names down here. You will be meeting with him next week.”

Fiddleford grabbed the pen quickly, “Mighty thanks!! Isn’t this excitin’??” He scribbled his name down quickly before handing the pen over to Stanford.

The man’s knees almost gave out.

“I-is this for another callback?” He asked in utter disbelief, pen gripped harshly in-between his fingers.

The woman raised an eyebrow, giving him an amused smile. “This is your acceptance form. You’ll be signing your contracts when you meet Mr. Cipher next week.”

His hand moved faster than his brain, and he’d already dragged the cursive ‘s’ of Pines out before he could speak.

“We got the roles,” he said quietly, like he would be slapped awake any minute now.

“We got the roles!!” Fiddleford grabbed Stanford’s hands and did a little happy jig. The other actors were thanked for their time, and some were told to come back for possible minor roles. There was no point in having them finish the exercise.

“When Mr. Cipher sees what he likes, he makes no hesitation.” The woman placed the clipboard under her arm. “It will be a pleasure working with you both. I am Ms. Pyronica.”

“It’s a mighty fine pleasure,” Fiddleford shook her hand.

“I’m beyond grateful for the opportunity, Ms. Pyronica. Tell Mr. Cipher that I can’t thank him enough!” He felt his heart skip a beat when he accidentally allowed himself to put out his hand, displaying his six fingers for her to see.

His throat caught, but it was too late to pull away.

Ms. Pyronica paid no mind to Stanford’s fingers and gave him a simple, but firm handshake.

“You’ll both receive calls in a few days to schedule your meetings with Mr. Cipher. He’s very excited to meet the both of you.” She gave them a pleasant smile. “Help yourself to any refreshments on your way out.”

Stanford brought his hand closer into himself, tucking his pinkies into his palm as he watched the woman leave with a dazed expression. This actually happened. Not only did they get the roles, they’d been _so_  good that they stopped the auditions because of it!

“Ah-hah?” He let out so much energy in that laugh, and he placed his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders, “Holy SHIT.”

“Holy shit, indeed!!!” Fiddleford laughed joyously and hugged Stanford hard. “We’ve made it!! ABC!!!”

“ABC!” He repeated and picked Fiddleford up like a ragdoll. After twirling him in a circle he was quick to run towards the rightmost wall where he’d left his brother, “Stanley! Stanley!? Did you see that? Did you see what just happened? Stan...ley?"

Fiddleford shot Stanford a concerned glance, “He was missing before we went up to audition. I don’t know where he went.”

“Stanley?!” He shouted into the echo-chamber of a studio, hoping for a call back, but finding nothing. “Well...maybe he just went out to the car for a smoke.”

“Yeah,” Fiddleford pat Stanford’s back, letting him lead the way to the El Diablo.

Stanley was smoking as his brother has predicted, but any sense of relief was squashed by the look of betrayal on Stan’s face.

He stared at his twin, gaping.

“There was a partner role...?”

Stanford felt his chest shatter like a china plate shot with a rifle.

“Ui-“ he pointed back to the studio, mind trying to recalculate the entire conversation he’d had planned in his head, “Er—yeah. Yeah...Yeah, they were casting for two roles. But Stan, listen! That’s not important. I got the _part_.”

“They were casting two roles...and you didn’t tell me!?” Stanley threw his cigarette butt on the ground, smashing it with his boot. “What the hell, Sixer!?”

When Stanley didn’t look like he was going to congratulate him, Ford changed tactics.

“Stan, they weren’t going to cast _twins_  for the role. If you’d auditioned, neither of us would have made it.”

Stan looked hurt by that, “And what makes you so sure of that??”

“Because...because they weren’t looking for _twins_ , Stanley!” He argued, frustrated by his previous wording, “It’s not your type of role, anyways.”

“Well it would’ve been fucking nice to know!” He threw his hands in the air, “You hid this role from me in the first place, and worse YET! There were TWO roles! It doesn’t matter if I got it in the end or not!” He balled his fists, glaring at Stanford. Then his face hit a realization, “....this is why you were saying all that the other day. And you just—!” He kicked the dirt, “And you think all I’m good for is fucking infomercials, don’t you!?”

“What?” Stanford spat, “Stan, you’re being fucking crazy! You can’t get mad at me for this. We can’t do absolutely _everything_  together!”

“You’re all I have, Stanford!! We...we had a dream together when we first came here! What happened to that!?” Stanley was easy to cry, but he didn’t want to do it here. Not now.

“We made those plans ten years ago!” Stanford belt out much of the frustration he’d been holding in for the past few months, “And for ten years it’s gotten us nowhere! I’m trying to do something worthwhile for a change. Why can’t you see that?”

“S-shut...” Stanley felt his eyes getting wet, and he stumbled back against his car. “Y-you can’t just go and make changes without telling me! Fuck you!!” He whipped open his car door aggressively. “Find another way to get home.” He slammed the door shut and took off immediately, without another word.

“Stanley!!! Fuck!” He shielded his eyes from the scattered dirt and pebbles that skyrocketed their way, and he coughed on fumes.

Ford vocalized aggressively, kicking a pile of dirt in the direction of the road as he watched the El Diablo speed away in the opposite direction of their home.

Fiddleford had been standing back awkwardly, wringing his hands as he watched Stanford spit all kinds of profanities.

He waited for a moment, gauging Ford’s emotions.

“...well I guess that answers the earlier question.”

Ford turned back to him with an irritated twinge, but it fell into a look of disappointment and regret.

“...Can I get a ride?”

“O’course. I ain’t just gonna leave you out here.” Fiddleford grabbed his keys out of his pocket. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” He walked Stanford over to his old pickup truck and got in the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry you had to see that...” he covered his face, embarrassed beyond belief, “He’s such a baby sometimes.”

“Mm,” Fiddleford started the engine and backed out of the parking lot. He was silent for just a moment, “I know siblings, Stanford,” he drove away from the studios and onto the highway. “Seems like you have more than just some acting to talk about.”

“Why’d he have to go and ruin a perfectly successful day?” Ford’s nose curled up, “No. No, I’m not gonna’ let him ruin it!” He slapped his hand on the dashboard, “We were _amazing_  in there! And no tantrum’s gonna’ change that!”

Fiddleford smiled just a little, sighing softly. “Yeah. We should celebrate. Your brother is gonna be okay, right?”

Stanford, in good conscience, couldn’t say his brother would be _perfectly_ fine.

A sigh.

“He’ll have his little tantrum and he’ll come back home hungover tomorrow. That’s what he always does. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Fiddleford scratched his head and looked forwards. “Is it this exit or the next that I get off of?”

“Next,” he rubbed some wet under his eyes.

Fiddleford nodded and drove another mile to the next exit, taking Stanford home to have a party of two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Flesh Curtains will make their appearance soon! Smut in the next chapter, it'll be indicated where it starts and ends if you want to gloss over it.


End file.
